Our Life: Now or Never
by rain pitter-patters
Summary: "Spock must be able to hear the thread of conversation about public relations, about renaming Djakarta, about announcing that they have found a suitable planet… and, Jim thinks, sometimes it's the smaller details, like those ones, that suddenly make loss real, and remind grief to rise up and demand acknowledgment." Gradual buildup of K/S.
1. Chapter 1

_Hi! I am new to Star Trek-I just saw this movie in January and now I've seen__ some TOS episodes-so I would appreciate any random Star Trek facts you might give me! I want this to be as accurate as possible. _

_Thank you very, very much for taking the time to look at this. I hope you love it! _

_Constructive criticism greatly appreciated._

_Disclaimer: I wish I did, but I don't own this. _

* * *

><p>It's pulling her back even as she fights to free herself. The tension builds and builds as stress rushes through the Enterprise. Fighting and straining, until suddenly… free. The singularity shrinks into the distance as the ship catapults through space.<p>

There's a fierce joy there, a proud and strong (and incredulous) feeling whirling through his chest, as his heart pounds and adrenaline rushes through his veins. It's so powerful that he nearly feels as though he's not quite enough to contain it, as though somehow it'll leak out and flood the air around him. Exhilaration fills him, wildly, and he turns just enough to meet Spock's gaze.

That gaze seems, for that single second, to hold a joy of its own, as the owner offers him the smallest of nods.

Jim turns back to the stars sweeping past and takes in _his_ ship, _his_ Enterprise, and breathes.

* * *

><p>"Incoming communication from Starfleet, Captain."<p>

"Divert to main screen."

Within moments, Admiral Jenson comes into focus. The large magnification reveals creases across his face that may or may not have been there before.

He doesn't enjoy seeing Admiral Jenson's surprise that he's the one in The Chair. No, really, he doesn't.

Or maybe just a little.

"Report, James Kirk."

"Sir. Nero's ship has been destroyed by a singularity created by the red matter. In escaping the singularity, the Enterprise has been reduced to warp factor 2. Estimated that we will reach Earth at 17:00. Captain Pike is in recovery in sickbay after torture aboard the Naruda. Condition: stable. Commander Spock has stepped down from Captaincy due to emotional compromise."

"And you, Mr. Kirk?"

"Currently Captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise, sir."

He expects… something. At least something more than Jenson's swallow, or brief widening of eyes: but everything is different now than it was this morning, and the Admiral simply says, "Very well, Captain Kirk. All commanding officers should expect a full debriefing upon arrival at Starfleet," and cuts the link.

* * *

><p>They arrive at space dock and board space shuttles to return to Earth's surface. He and the other officers are first and exit the shuttle bay to head to the debriefing rooms—but hit a cluster of reporters shortly thereafter.<p>

The reporters—blasted, insensitive reporters—swarm them as soon as they begin to approach Starfleet Headquarters. Much of the crew—particularly the fellow cadets—is still behind them, on their way to Starfleet Housing.

Cameras flash incessantly.

"How do you explain the actions of—!"

"Mr. Kirk, describe how you took command of the U.S.S.—"

Clearly there's been a press leak.

"Mr. Spock, what do you plan to do now that—"

"Will you continue in Starfleet?"

"Mr. Kirk, considering the death of your father—"

"Would you say that Starfleet is currently weak, Acting Ca—"

The voices cry out simultaneously, fragments of questions rising above the confusing cacophony, all of them exactly the opposite of what any Starfleet member needs right now.

"—half-human, Mr. Spock, surely you must be overwhelmed—"

"If you had been more prepared, could you have saved—"

Jim stares back at the mass of reporters, wondering where the hell security is. Damn the f-ing reporters for this. Don't any of them have hearts?

He steps in front of Spock, whose impassive face manages to resemble that of a deer in headlights (thank goodness the press hasn't noticed), and he calmly, restrainedly (in his opinion) addresses the insensitive, unintelligent, lethal, sorry-excuse-for-human-beings. No, lethal was not a bit much.

He has to take a few moments to prevent himself from shouting.

"In my opinion, all of you are heartless bastards who will soon be removed by security. While we're waiting for them to haul you away… Every single one of us—whom you are currently badgering—has lost someone, or almost everything. In our grief, we will continue fighting and continue living… for our own sakes and for those of us who _do not have_ that choice. We will rise from this stronger than before …for all that we wish this tragedy _never_ occurred.

"No further comment from myself, nor my crew."

Then, with timing that actually suits his purposes, security officers come running and create a path through the crowd while placing the reporters under arrest for trespassing, which is unfortunately all they can be charged with. Spock dazedly steps forward to walk beside him as they traverse a campus that no longer seems quite as lively, nor quite as safe as it did just this morning.

* * *

><p>"Please kindly explain how you managed to change from being on <em>probation<em> to being Acting Captain of the _U.S.S. Enterprise_, Cadet Kirk."

Perhaps he should have acted a little more deferential when entering the debriefing room. Because apparently after a devastating crisis, formality still mattered. Perhaps it grounded the Admiralty. He, on the other hand, had never really felt the need for it, not to this degree.

Jim and Spock (who glances at him with an ever-so-slightly raised eyebrow) stand with their hands clasped behind their back in parade rest.

"With respect, I believe that it would be best to explain the events of the last eight hours in full."

After not even a beat, "I agree with Kirk's logic. It would be most efficient for all involved parties to explain the matter once, in its entirety."

He hadn't expected that either.

. . .

About two hours later, he stumbles to the Starfleet Hospital to check on Pike's condition—finds that he and Spock had walked there at the same time, but hadn't consciously noticed each other—gets kicked out of the hospital, and finally collapses into his bed in his room.

* * *

><p>Two days later, he is called to the assembly room (empty but for the Admiralty) for the completion of his academic hearing.<p>

He and Spock again stand at their podiums but this time, their anger is absent. This is simply a formality.

"I do not believe in no-win scenarios. With respect, the test does not even let you rescue the Kobayashi Maru at the expense of the ship. There is _no way_ to prevent total loss, total failure. It does _not _teach cadets to keep calm in the face of total fear. It forces them to believe it is possible to fail. It is indeed possible to fail, but not inevitable. We _should not_ be teaching inevitability. With respect, that is why I instigated the subroutine. I honestly did not believe you meant for it to be a no-win scenario. I thought the objective was to beat the test… _So I did_."

Just because this is a formality doesn't mean he can't give his opinion. It's also not as though he has any hope of remaining Captain of the Enterprise, so he doesn't have much to lose.

"With respect, I believe this hearing is unnecessary for the same reasons I outlined to you this morning. Furthermore, I move to drop all charges against Cadet James T. Kirk."

He probably should have anticipated that.

Some of the Admiralty exchange dissatisfied glances.

"Commander Spock, that is entirely unnecessary. As I am sure you are aware, we were going to find Cadet Kirk Not Guilty."

"And yet it is illogical to continue the trial when we are all aware of this fact. Especially since I, the accuser, find the situation no longer relevant in the face of recent circumstances."

They again exchange glances, this time less dissatisfied.

"All in favor of dropping the charges against Cadet Kirk?"

After a chorus of _Ayes_, "All charges dropped. Court dismissed."

Jim nods his thanks to Spock—who says he can't communicate subtly?—and turns to walk back to his room, where books (on his padd) and assignments await. After a crisis, people try to return to normal as much as possible, which means the Senior Class will continue to attend their classes until graduation even though in some cases they are less necessary than before (and even though Starfleet ranks are thin).

As he reaches the doors, "And Cadet?" reaches his back. He turns around. "We thank you for your service."

It's a nice gesture. If only they would consider giving him the Enterprise. It's still worth something though, even something large, to a guy who grew up hearing so much about his father, yet so little about himself.

* * *

><p>. . .<p>

* * *

><p>It's hard to believe that they've fallen back into the swing of classes. It's taken a month, but they've adjusted back to the rhythm of things as much as possible. It's a new rhythm that is filled with more urgency than it used to be. Before, the classes were the things that mattered. Now, it's Starfleet's depleted ranks. They've already proved themselves to an extent; now this is about shows of Starfleet strength, and graduating their seniors early out of desire for more personnel is a weakness Starfleet will not reveal. They need to be stronger than ever before, more skilled than ever before.<p>

Since he has an overloaded schedule (You don't get to graduate as a Captain in three years without a certain dose of lunacy… and yet people always thought he was out partying when he was really attending additional advanced classes or studying in the library), he is running around now more than ever before. There are fewer tutors for underclassmen, fewer instructors, fewer assistants, fewer tech people, fewer everything. Now he's everywhere at once, running around from dawn 'till dusk, evading McCoy for fear of forced sleep, and unofficially repairing things and teaching students.

He avoids his newfound celebrity status at nearly all costs and mostly sticks to quiet, secluded places in his free time. He ignored the newspaper headlines as much as he could until he thought the press had tired of the story (he can just imagine it: "The Kelvin's Son: The Boy Lives up to his Father's Name" and "Child of the Kelvin Hero Saves Earth!").

He goes to the gym and throws himself around, ignoring his body's protests, every so often to relieve stress. Jim and Bones still goof around, but now it has a different tone. Before, (that's how everyone refers to it, as Before) they were stupid. They did stupid things because they were fun, and because sometimes they were angry and it seemed to help. But things are more serious now.

He sees Chekov sometimes, and Sulu, and even Nyota (finally, she let him call her that). They eat together but they're all busy, so that's mostly the extent of it. Still, after being through the fire together, it's enough to keep them close. They see Scotty sometimes, but he's usually working on the Enterprise, or nestled somewhere working on crazy theories. She—The Enterprise—hasn't left space dock yet. Spock has thrown himself into work, and really, why should Jim expect to see him? He had never seen him before the Kobayashi Maru, so why should he expect to now? Why should he… worry about him, and wish that he could intentionally run into him? They've commed each other back and forth a few times, at least.

He visits Pike when he can.

He and Bones are walking to their respective classes one day (a week before graduation) when he freezes. A woman, blond, beautiful, with both laughing lines around her eyes and sad creases by her mouth, is standing in his path. A woman who was devastated once, and who couldn't quite deal with losing her husband and _space_ at the same time, so she remained in Starfleet but didn't bring her son with her… for fear that he would die too. Or maybe it was because she couldn't look at him without seeing George. He always knew that she loved him and Sam, but he always knew that he caused her pain. He always knew that people looked at him and saw his father's sacrifice, and he didn't think that when they looked at him they ever thought they saw a boy who could ever be as great a man as his father.

"Mom?" he asks, and now it's Bones' turn to freeze.

"Hi Jim." She murmurs hesitantly, and then, "they said that you'd walk this way."

Well that raises a whole slew of questions. Such as, if they knew she was here, why did nobody warn him? And who did she talk to? And really, why no warning?

"Why are you here?

"Why now, without a com or anything at all for ages—"no, he doesn't know the exact amount of time since any communication has passed between them. It's not as though he… counts or anything. It's not as though he'll let her know that he keeps track… if he kept track"—without telling me, just showing up in the middle of the day—in the middle of classes!—without any contact at all, not even when you might have been shocked into it by certain the narrowly escaped destruction of Earth—Why?"

She has tears in her eyes now and that's not fair (what right does she have to tears right now? After all these years?) and Bones is looking back and forth between them and they'll be late for class and he does not want to deal with this right now, of all times.

"I wasn't on-planet before."

"That fails to explain the com question. And many others for that matter."

Bones begins to back away uncomfortably. "Maybe… I should… go," but Jim stops him with a Look. It's not a glare, but it carries certain threats with it. For instance, _if you leave me alone with my mother, So help me, I swear I will..._ (how does it finish? _Hide your hyposprays for a month?_ That could work nicely).

"Listen, I really need to get to class. We're already going to be late as it is—"

"Jim, you really can be late for class every once in a while, you know. Especially for your own mother, right? And I wouldn't have expected you to be so concerned about that…"

"It's different now than when you were here! Don't you get it? Everything is different now! _And what do you mean, you wouldn't expect me to be so concerned?_"

"Well just that, just that—"

"I'm sorry, but I can't deal with this right now."

"But—"

"I have class to attend, other classes to instruct, students to tutor, and things to fix. And are you here now because you care about me, or because you feel some sort of obligation to thank me for the death of the Kelvin's killer?"

"That's not fair."

Jim swallows and takes a metaphorical step back. "I'm sorry. And there are a great many things in this universe that aren't fair. We can talk later if you're still here."

"Jim—"

"It would seem that you are causing the Cadet a large degree of distress." (Jim spins around in disbelief) "As it is only a week before finals, and the honored cadet has informed you that he is unable to adequately conduct a conversation or a reunion with you at this time, it would be logical to acquiesce to his request that you talk to each other later today. Furthermore, if you have ignored your son for years and have left him feeling as though he is only a reminder of your lost husband to you, you should not have expected him to greet you with, as they say, open arms, upon your reappearance in his life."

Shock and disbelief and gratitude.

"Spock…"

The man simply raises an eyebrow.

"How long have you been listening?"

"Vulcans have very sensitive hearing. I heard you from a distance and interrupted once I was here. I will lead your mother to a place where she can spend the night, should she wish it. If you resume your walk to class, you will only be approximately 5 minutes and 26 seconds late."

Jim simply stares for a few moments. "You call that approximate? _And_ you know where I'm going?"

"6 minutes and 3 seconds."

The eyebrow rises further. His mother opens and closes her mouth, appearing as though she is about to reenter the conversation.

"You and I are talking later," he says over his shoulder (calling is unnecessary with Vulcan hearing) as he breaks into an almost run.

Bones follows him, shaking his head.

Distantly he hears Spock address his mother before they're too far apart.

"Mrs. Kirk, would you be agreeable to spending the night in Starfleet housing?"

"I would be _agreeable_ to you leading me to my son!"

After a pause, "That will not currently be possible."

. . .

Jim goes through his day in a bit of a shocked daze.

During lunch Nyota, Chekov, and Sulu exchange worried looks. "Keptain?" (Chekov still calls him Captain. It usually makes him smile). They look to Bones for explanation, but he offers them none.

"It's nothing guys. I've had an… _interesting_ day."

"Interesting, my a—"

"Interesting, Bones."

"_If you say so," _Bones mutters.

When Jim leaves, he finally offers, "It's nothing. Just my mother," and leaves Bones to explain the barest hints of the story.

That night, he has an awkward dinner with his mother. It isn't really something that he has time for because as they approach finals, everything gets a bit more frantic, but he sits through it with some semblance of grace.

"Jim, you have to know that I didn't leave because of you."

He simply looks at her and waits.

"Well, not exactly."

(and waits)

"But I'm here now! And—"

"And you won't admit that you left because you couldn't bear looking at me? You still can't face it! And when you look at me now, I wonder who you see." He isn't trying to make her cry, or even to make her feel guilty (she should feel guilty though). It's just something that he needs to say. There's a lot more that he needs to say, but he probably won't. Won't say it.

"I-I see you, Jim."

"You see me." He mutters, shaking his head. "You never saw me." Why does he feel trapped? "After everything that's happened, are you sure that the reason you're here now isn't because you feel obligated, and because I've done something that reminds you of him?"

"You do. You always have."

"_That's my point_."

"I don't understand."

"You don't understand my point because you've never understood _me. _You have never looked at me without seeing George. And you've never looked past that image to see me, your son, as my own person. As me. Do you have any idea how tiring that is? Everybody does it. But don't you think that, if one person didn't, it should have been you? And even now, I'll bet you're here not because of _me, _but because you feel guilty. You're here because you feel as though you should be—progress—but not because you want to be."

"I'm trying Jim. I'm… sorry. I _am_ sorry. I know that's not good enough, but I'm trying."

"I hope you succeed."

Jim knows he is being bitter and unyielding. He isn't _trying _to be. But he is too accustomed to people leaving to welcome her back into his life… a life that she's never truly been in. Perhaps he wants her to prove to him that she wants to be part of his life; perhaps he isn't strong enough to trust her without putting up walls for her to break through.

She rallies bravely. "How many years have you been in Starfleet?" It's something she should know, but she doesn't know it, and… admitted to not knowing it.

"Three."

He likes seeing her surprise, because it could one day build into respect and pride.

It's a start.

. . .

That night he coms Spock and collapses into bed without waiting for a response. When McCoy enters the room (ready to threaten him into sleep), he finds Jim fast asleep, too exhausted to even stir.

. . .

Light streams through the open window and into his eyes. He stirs blearily, looks at the clock, and jumps out of bed. Of course he felt wonderful upon waking: his alarm never went off, traitorous clock—traitorous McCoy, more likely.

He flies through the shower, brushes his teeth, grabs a sorry excuse for breakfast (consisting of a meal bar from the closet), and has just put on his uniform when the door signals that someone is waiting outside.

He finds a messenger—a messenger?—upon opening the door. He's not that late that they need to send someone!

"Cadet Kirk. You are requested in Admiral Pike's office."

"Yes, sir."

His office? On a weekday, during classes, during finals?

He runs (but pauses outside the door to regain composure).

"You requested me, sir?"

Pike raises his eyebrow at him (he and Spock are startlingly similar at times. Until the comparison ends. Because really, you can't compare—tangent. Right. Focusing). "Jim, you've been running yourself ragged."

"I've been doing nothing that anybody else isn't doing."

"Not when you put everybody else, together, no. But when you look at them individually…"

Well, when you put it that way…

"I try. You know that."

Pike smiles, with that fatherly glint in his eye. "I do. McCoy told me that he turned off your alarm by the way, after yesterday's distressing events for you. Your instructors are not expecting you today, and goodness knows you don't actually need to attend those classes because you already know everything in them."

Jim takes a seat in his wooden chair by the window and struggles to be mad at Bones. And fails.

"I do have something that should compensate your day yesterday though," Pike grins. Pike rarely grins.

"Starfleet has given me permission to notify you of your assignment post graduation…"

The moment Pike pauses for stretches out as hope swells within him. If the news will make up for yesterday, where will he be, what ship? Not the Enterprise, surely? He hasn't allowed himself to hope for that, not consciously.

"You're to be captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise, Jim."

He gasps, and his eyes widen and he swallows (some sort of reflex) and he doesn't believe, but he still beams back at Pike. "What?"

Pike smiles indulgently and leans forward to clap him on the shoulder. "You're the Captain of the Enterprise. And I want you to know that I'm proud of you Jim, and that your father would be too—That your father _is_ proud of you too. And I get to tell you now because—well, because I couldn't keep it from you much longer—but also because you need to choose your crew, dependent on their acceptance, of course."

He can't talk, he can hardly breathe, and he just grins at Pike in disbelief and his eyes shine and this time, his happiness positively floods the room.

* * *

><p>It's delightful.<p>

"So, Chekov…"

"Yes, Keptain?"

"How would you like to serve aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise as Navigator?" he asks, and waits.

"I would like that wery much, Keptain, but I doubt they will put me there, and you would not be there and… And you will be, won't you! That is why you are asking! I would like it wery wery much!"

. . .

"Nyota!" He calls as he runs to catch up with her.

"I'm sorry Jim, but I'm very busy right now and—"

"And you don't have time to discuss the possibility of serving as Communications Officer aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise?"

"Well of course, I'd love to, but," she says, then glances at him, at his growing smile, and halts. "You're captain?"

"Yes."

"And they're letting you pick the crew?"

"Yes!" (Trying for nonchalance would be quite impossible.)

"They're mad. But yes. Of course yes!"

. . .

"Oh Scotty!"

"Hi Jim! Have you come to help with these repairs?"

"Nope. I am here to ask if you'll be serving as Chief Engineer for the Enterprise."

"Well you know I want to, she's a beauty, but I was hoping to be placed with you. You know, bonds of being rescued by you and so on and so forth."

"Well then you're going to be very, _very _pleased."

"You cannae mean—"

"You're looking at the Captain!"

. . .

"Sulu, how would you like to be the Enterprise's pilot?"

"I'd love to!"

Jim squints at him. "You knew already, didn't you?

"Chekov let it slip."

He can't help but grin anyway. He's glad they're close.

. . .

"Hi Bones!"

"You're not mad at me about the alarm clock?"

"…No."

"Well I'm glad you're finally seeing sense. How late did you sleep?"

"Bones, how would you like to be Chief Medical Officer of the Enterprise?"

"Jim, they're not going to give it to you. They should, but they won't—"

"Mhmm."

"They did, didn't they?"

"They did indeed, Bones."

"Good God. I'll never see the end of patching you up. You're going to be the death of me, you know that? They're insane. Insane, I tell you."

. . .

He contacts every single member of the Enterprise's crew. He sends the ones he doesn't know a general message, but makes it sound personal (tries to, anyway. He doesn't have that much time before he needs to inform Starfleet of his crew).

Then he goes to Spock's quarters after looking up their location in the database and summons the courage to knock. He knew the others would say yes. This is the hard one because he can't imagine anyone else as his first officer.

He knocks on the door. The door opens almost instantly.

"I was wondering how long it would take you."

"To come here?"

"To knock."

"Hmph. May I come in?"

Spock simply steps slightly backwards and shifts his eyebrow in response.

Jim steps inside and finds the apartment sweltering.

"Computer, lower temperature ten degrees."

"That's unnecessary," Jim protests, but is simply met with the raised eyebrow. It's a very versatile eyebrow.

"Thank you for saving me the other day," he says uneasily.

"Jim, you thanked me for that in your message to me earlier. I think I know the reason for your lack of response to my subsequent message. Why are you here?"

"I've come to ask you to be my first officer aboard the Enterprise." After a pause, he continues, "You don't look very surprised."

"As a Vulcan—"

"Yes, I know that, Spock. But I mean that you appeared as though you already knew I'd be given the Enterprise."

"It was logical."

"Well will you? Be my first officer?"

Spock clasps his hands behind his back and glances at his feet for a second. Just a second, but long enough to break eye-contact.

"I cannot answer you. I am not decided as to whether I will continue in Starfleet. Despite the use of logic, I find myself uncertain of which choice will be the most beneficial to my race. It is logical that I resign from Starfleet and—"

Some of Jim's joy crashes a little bit.

"But then why have you not already resigned? You've thrown yourself into your work! You've shown no indication of… of resigning."

"I would, of course, wait until your class graduates so that my resignation does not further deplete Starfleet's ranks."

God, it's logical. Freaking logical.

"I could try to convince you to stay with Starfleet Spock, but… it's your decision and I won't make you feel… guilty for it. I know you're about to remind me that you do not feel emotion, but… Well, we won't go there. But I want you Spock. If you decide to stay, I want you with me."

He leaves with disappointment, the image of Spock's solemn nod staying with him for the rest of the day. If only Spock could know about other Spock. Can't he be a little selfish if there are two of him?

But Spock doesn't know that and it would be harmful if he did.

Even so, he can't help but think that Spock shouldn't have to lose his planet, and then his position at Starfleet only a month later. He shouldn't have to make such a sacrifice.

* * *

><p>Graduation is inspiring and exhilarating.<p>

He hadn't known that they would commend him, or publicly announce him as the Enterprise's captain. Bones needs to hit him before he breaks out of his stunned daze when they call his name, and he simply stands and drinks in the applause after relieving Admiral Pike.

He's never felt this way before.

Even though he doesn't have his First Officer yet.

* * *

><p>Bones observes him as they pack up their things.<p>

"You know that you need a first officer, right?"

"Spock will be."

This doesn't appear to satisfy Bones. "But if he doesn't…"

"Spock will be my first officer as long as he chooses to remain in Starfleet. And I'm pretty sure he will."

Bones allows a pile of clothes to drop to the floor. "If he chooses…?" he asks with that threatening tone of his (the one that's only a little short of a growl).

"…He's considering resigning from Starfleet to help rebuild his race."

"Jim!"

Oh. That was why he failed to mention that piece of information to Bones. Yep, that was _definitely_ why he didn't tell Bones.

"He'll come. He has to."

He loves it when Bones decides to temporarily give up on _talking sense into him_.

"And if he doesn't?"

"…We'll deal with it."

Why does Bones _always_ shake his head at him?

* * *

><p>Safe in his certainty that Spock will appear, he joyfully greets his ship, his Enterprise. She's a beauty.<p>

This might be better than anything else he's ever felt in his life.

His crew begins to board as he triple checks everything. There's nothing out of order, nothing out of place, nothing broken, nothing outdated. He's going to keep it that way.

. . .

He enters the bridge to find his command crew back where they belong, and on a much happier day than the one they last spent here. It's thrilling and exhilarating. He still can't believe _this _is _his_.

"Maneuvering thrusters and impulse engines at your command, sir," Sulu informs him.

Then Chekov tells him, "Weapons systems and shields on standby," while tapping on his screen.

"Dock control reports ready, Captain." Uhura pauses right before saying Captain. It sounds so official.

This will be fun. There a just a couple things left… Ah. His gaze alights on Bones (who looks rather anxious).

"Bones! Buckle up." He says, clapping his friend on the shoulder (the Captain can do things like that as he pleases).

The comlink beeps as he calls to check on Scotty: "Scotty, how we doing?"

"Dilithium chamber's at maximum, Captain."

Perfect.

Except for one not-so-small, very important thing. Or person, rather.

"Mr. Sulu, prepare to engage thrusters," he orders reluctantly. They need to wait a bit longer…

But then he hears the turbo lift door open and, startled, disbelieving, spins in his chair to find Spock.

"Permission to come aboard, Captain."

He sort of loves the fact that his first officer asked that question, because it has to be a joke. Or if not a joke outright, it must be playful, certainly.

"Permission granted." Permission granted a great many times, Spock, you last-minute—

"As you have yet to select a first officer, respectfully I would like to submit my candidacy. Should you desire, I can provide character references."

He's kidding right? There eyes meet each other with a certain degree of intensity.

"It would be my honor, Commander."

They're standing close, by Vulcan terms, now and he can see the shine in Spock's eyes. He catches the barely perceptible nod and goodness knows Jim's happiness must be visible to nearly everyone, let alone a perceptive man who is also a touch-telepath. He sits back down in his chair (his chair!), eminently satisfied.

"Maneuvering thrusters, Mr. Sulu."

"Thrusters on standby."

"Take us out."

"Aye-aye, Captain."

And they've gone.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hi! _

_I apologize for being so slow with this update-I was incredibly busy for several months, to the point of being quite stressed essentially 24/7.  
><em>

_I hope that you enjoy this chapter as much as you did the first one!  
><em>

_Thank you ever so much to my reviewers, Marni, Chewbecca, Talltree-san, Kalidris, and MoonstarWorld. Without their feedback, I'm not sure when I would have gotten around to continuing this story.  
><em>

_I debated with myself about the tense for this story, and I would appreciate your input. I feel that certain things are easier to do in present tense, but that past tense is more sophisticated and allows the language of a story to be more tightly woven as a whole. What do you think?  
><em>

_Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek.  
><em>

_ (constructive criticism of any nature is loved and appreciated!)  
><em>

_(as are any and all reviews, favorites, and follows)  
><em>

* * *

><p>She's catapulting through space, with planets soaring past, going faster than anyone might think possible: and to everyone aboard, she feels completely calm and still, as though space is the one that's moving.<p>

He knows better. He can feel it when he rests his palm on any of the Enterprise's surfaces. There's a sort of thrum, a thrill of potential, in both of them.

It's glorious.

No, he probably isn't going to stop thinking that every new detail is even better than the last, not for a long, long time. Where would the fun in that be?

"Incoming orders from Starfleet, Captain. Flagged as non-confidential."

"Main Screen, Uhura," he directs briskly and Pike's face appears in front of him. He appears to be sitting at his desk, so Jim can't determine whether he's still in his wheelchair.

"Hello Jim. I trust you're treating my ship well?"

"Of course, sir, though I must admit to being… a little possessive. I'm not sure I'll be giving her back anytime soon." He says the words in a serious voice, but with a twinkle in his eye and one corner of his mouth tilting up into a half smile.

Pike grins a little, as Jim knew he would, before getting to the point.

"As well you should be, Captain.

"Your orders are to travel to a planet titled Djakarta. It is located within the star-group AIIV and it orbits around a Class A star. Your teams are to evaluate the planet to determine how well suited it would be to become Vulcan I. Perform every evaluation you may think of, Enterprise. We have just sent the complete report to your ship's computers."

"Orders acknowledged, Admiral. We'll begin sending reports once we've begun examinations."

Pike nods and cuts the transmission.

"Lieutenant Sulu, plot and lay in a course for Djakarta."

Sulu fiddles with the screen at his station quickly, "Course plotted…" and presses a button, "course laid in, Sir."

"Approximately 2.5 hours until we reach Djakarta's orbit," Sulu supplies as Jim spins in his chair to find Spock busily working at his station. If he'd turned earlier, he might have seen Spock examining him with an undecipherable expression.

He does not, however, and simply begins examining his data padd, mentally cataloging various facts about Djakarta and comparing it to what he knows of Vulcan.

* * *

><p>It's too soon to look at Djakarta and <em>not <em>see Vulcan. The planets don't even look all that similar to each other, but… The destruction of Vulcan was only two months ago, and he could say with absolute certainty that everyone looking at the viewing window is mentally seeing Vulcan dissolve into nothingness. It's human nature.

Too late. Why is he always too late?

Jim pulls himself from that train of thought with determination. He _wasn't _too late to save Earth, and that is worth nearly everything.

"A landing party of four security officers, Spock, and myself will beam down to Djakarta. We'll perform initial scans before bringing the remaining science officers down. Mr. Sulu, you have the conn." Spock's face changes ever so slightly while Jim addresses the bridge, but he can't determine its significance.

When rises to head to the transporter room, Spock falls into step with him naturally and without hesitation.

Jim glances over at him, but he encounters only Spock's profile and returns his gaze to the turbolift doors.

It's probably stupid, but he asks it anyway. "Are you… okay Spock?" Their current mission is, after all, an emotionally fraught one, particularly for the man standing beside him.

Maybe he'll actually answer, instead of analyzing his inferior, vague word choice, instead of—

"I am in optimal mental and physical health, Captain."

—ignoring the question Jim is actually asking, the one that Spock should understand because he's rather adept at interpreting humans when he tries to be. The answer, however, is exactly the one he expected… if not one he had hoped to receive.

* * *

><p>Jim has no idea whether Djakarta even remotely resembles Vulcan. Unless you count nearly plummeting to his death from hundreds of feet above its surface, he has never visited the planet.<p>

It's the opposite of Delta Vega, with the finest sand imaginable, varying from gold to brown to deep, deep red (and it's sweltering). In the distance, sand gives way to rocky cliffs, above which a large, golden sun rests in the cyan sky. Wind brushes his face as he looks around, squinting, and sweat begins to gather on his brow. It certainly seems hot enough to become Vulcan II.

He orders the security officers to take thorough preliminary scans to guarantee the safety of the science officers who will beam down and he sets off towards the cliffs. The planet's relatively modest diameter tricks his eyes into thinking the cliffs are farther away than they are, and he reaches their base much sooner than he expected. Not to imply that he isn't covered in sweat or at all fatigued from walking up and down the sliding sand dunes. Or that he isn't jealous of the fact that Spock (who Jim figured would follow him) seems entirely unaffected.

He tilts his head higher and higher as he searches for the top of the cliffs. Spock simply watches him as he does so.

"Captain—"

"Jim," he corrects, turning towards his counterpart, and Spock's eyebrow rises a bit before moving back down.

"… Captain," (Jim lets this go. Temporarily.) "I must inquire as to why you requested a landing party comprised of only six people, with only one science officer among them."

The sunlight overwhelms his sensitive eyes and he squints involuntarily. How fair is it that lighter eyes have more difficulty withstanding light?

"How do you like Djakarta so far, Spock?"

"I do not see how that answers my inquiry."

Jim toys with the idea of scaling the cliff up to an outcropping he can see about ten feet about them, and approaches the cliff face in search of handholds. Evading the question? Why would he be evading a question?

"I thought you might like to form your opinion about the planet before we had science officers deciding whether the new Vulcan colony should be established here," he responds, abandoning his admittedly lame attempt at distraction and approaching Spock, who hasn't moved an inch.

"If the science officers believe that this planet is the—"

"No. Our security officers are only performing basic scans." Further approaching Spock, he maneuvers himself into Spock's shadow so that he can actually _see_ him. "In the meantime, you will decide how well suited this planet is to provide the home for your colony. And I don't want to hear that the science officers could decide that just as well—walk around, meditate, watch the sun make its way across the sky, find a storm somewhere, I don't exactly care. But you will not convince me that Vulcan is simply a planet with a certain atmosphere and weather pattern, or soil make-up, or anything of the sort. Okay?"

Now only a foot and a half separates them. Jim can see Spock's face so clearly, see dozens of things shift beneath the surface: minuscule, invisible, but for their closeness and perhaps Jim's intuition.

"Based on my prior experiences with you, I estimate approximately an eleven point three seven six percent chance that you will change your opinion on this matter."

"Approximately, Spock?"

"Indeed, I do not have enough data to make an entirely accurate calculation."

Was there a note of dissatisfaction in the man's tone? Imagining things. He needs to stop imagining things.

He wonders how often Spock observes him when he's distracted. And remembers that Spock knew, down to the second, exactly how long it would take him to get to class. They never discussed that, because then Pike told him he would have the Enterprise, and then he was assembling his crew, and then, and then, and then… there was never a free moment, and now he is standing here, wishing he knew more about what was normal and what was not, and wishing he understood Spock's motivations. Does he observe everyone this way, or just the people he works with, or his superiors? And why did he change his mind about Starfleet (because if he had been going to stay in service, he would have contacted Jim sooner) and why is he giving in so easily right now? He should have protested that anything other than a scientific observation of the planet would mean an emotional connection… should probably have put more distance between them by now, because he's Vulcan, and Vulcans must have large bubbles of personal space (gosh, Spock would say something amusing about that expression, by the way).

Instead he's the one to separate them. "In any case, you're right. I'm not changing my mind, so you might as well go do whatever it is that you're inclined to do, while I hop on up to that outcropping there, and wait for you to inform me of your conclusions. I expect you to check in after approximately two hours." The cliff-face looks fun and enticing when he's only considering climbing ten feet. If he braces himself using that niche, and puts his foot on the tiny ledge, then pulls himself up with that—

"Sir, that is an unnecessary risk to your health. I insist that you do not attempt to scale the cliff."

He continues plotting his course. "It'd be perfectly safe Spock. Ten feet isn't high enough to injure myself."

"Then I will consult Doctor McCoy once I am again on the Enterprise in order to ascertain what is and is not safe for humans to undertake. If you are correct, the facts upon which I am basing my logic are flawed."

Bones would kill him.

Well, not kill him… but he'd find excuses to hypospray him for sure (numerous excuses, at that).

Grimacing to himself, he says, "I wouldn't want to put you through the trouble Spock. I'll go manage the security team to give you _extra_ time since you're so concerned for my well-being. Let me know what you think about Djakarta… in _three _hours."

He leaves a very still Vulcan behind him.

The outcropping will still be there in an hour, if he decides to return.

* * *

><p>He sets a countdown as soon as he's out of Spock's sight.<p>

At 2:13:55 he surveys his communicator. Knowing Spock, the man should be calling him any second now, to claim that he has performed sufficient analysis for the remaining science officers to beam down. His first is stubborn to a fault, and will likely attempt to avoid spending three hours analyzing the planet on an emotional level. And he could very well (attempt to) deny that there _is _an emotional level for a Vulcan with regard to a planet. After all, is it not simply a place of dwelling and sustenance and shelter? Should it matter if they live underground, in caves, or aboveground, in the sweltering sun? Yes it very well _does _matter, Mr. Spock, and don't think for a single second that—

But his comLink remains silent.

1:37:29. And silent.

He isn't disappointed that Spock hasn't commed him yet. He isn't.

…Except that Spock should have by now, right? And the fact that he _hasn't_ means that Jim doesn't know him as well as he had thought.

0:22:19. And silent.

What happened to logic? Quite unfair, really. You think you know a guy, and then—

Unless he simply knows him so extraordinarily well that he knew the perfect thing to say to convince Spock to actually do what he's asking? Yes, he chose the most effective arguments. He has merely doubted his astuteness for the past two hours and thirty-eight minutes.

No. Now he's just twisting things around to make himself happy.

0:05:03.

The outcropping offers a spectacular view across the dunes. Conveniently enough, it also provides him with a welcome shadow in which he hides from the fierce sun. The fierce sun, by the way, feels no less ferocious from within the shadow.

_Ba-ba-eep. _

Finally!

"Hello Spock. How—"

"Captain, I will provide my report 'in person,' as you would say. I will rendezvous with you at that outcropping you were interested in. Am I correct in my assumption that you are currently sitting upon it?"

"You… are correct, Spock."

"I will arrive in six minutes and twelve seconds, Captain." Does he do that—the crazy accuracy thing—just to mess with him?

The link closes just as he replies, "It's Jim."

. . .

Before long, Spock pulls himself onto the sturdy yet slim rock with the ease and grace of an experienced climber.

Spock's words, however, appear to fail him.

"Spock…" Jim starts, falteringly. "You don't have to tell me the why of it. Just tell me yes or no."

His gaze meets Spock's intensely. Why did Spock join him up here? Surely, with the negligible distance between them, he must be experiencing a barrage of Jim's emotions? Touch telepaths, yes. Not even slightly telepathic without touch? No.

"I find the planet suitable for candidacy to become Vulcan II."

Jim opens his communicator to order the science officers down. Just as his thumb flips it open, Spock's hand grabs his wrist (it appears to have been a quick reflex, but nevertheless, Spock's grip carefully avoids touching the slightest bit of Jim's skin).

"Spock?"

"Do you not wish to hear the rest of my report?"

"Spock—"

"I have not provided the explanation necessary for you to decide"

"Spock—"

"that Djakarta should be the new colony. As such I do not understand why you would order the science officers to beam down at this juncture—"

"Spock!"

Spock slowly releases Jim's wrist. Jim, in turn, grabs Spock's shoulders.

"Spock. The science officers will not deem this planet suitable if it is not. As for your report, I will not listen to your analysis because you feel duty-bound to tell me. I _do not need _to hear whether you meditated or walked around in circles or stared at the sun. Because that is not something that I need to know, I will not allow you to tell me unless you wish to."

With that, he descends from the ledge and waits for Spock to join him.

"Spock, I'll have you direct the specifics of the away teams and the tests. Would you prefer to instruct them here, or on the Enterprise?"

Jim glances back at Spock when he pauses, which seems to prompt him into response.

"Instructing them on the Enterprise would prove more efficient for overseeing the tests and their results due to use of the ship's computers."

"Scotty, two to beam up."

"Aye, sir. Transporter—Two to beam up. Lock onto the captain's signal." Scotty pauses here, waiting for the transporter room's response. Then, "Energize."

White beams materialize and spin around him and Spock until he can't see Djakarta, and then, after that feeling of not-quite-being-anywhere (which Bones hates), they materialize on the transporter pad.

* * *

><p>An outside observer would probably notice that Spock and Jim step down from the transporter in perfect sync, but Jim does not and Spock most likely doesn't either.<p>

Jim nods at the man sitting at the transporter controls and semi-distractedly exits the room, distinctly aware of Spock's presence behind his back. He's always been rather sensitive to that sensation people receive when someone is standing behind them—sensitive enough to help in certain dangerous situations, and to surprise people approaching him ever-so quietly. Sensitive enough, as well, to be bothersome at times. Spock is probably about two feet behind him and is matching his pace exactly. He might also be staring at a particular point on the back of Jim's head, but then again, Jim could be focusing too much and creating the sensation himself. Once in the hallway, he pauses abruptly, waits for Spock to catch up, and resumes walking.

"Captain?" If Spock were human, he would sound confused.

"Just wanted you next to me, not behind me."

Spock's reply might sound vaguely challenging from a human but for Spock, the inquiry "For what reason?" is something Jim expects. Vulcans might not admit it, but they have curious natures. He'd be surprised if Spock _didn't_ ask.

"Unless there's a particular reason why you _shouldn't_ walk next to me, I prefer when I'm not in front of the person I'm walking with."

Probably not enough of an answer to satisfy the Vulcan, but answer enough that Spock drops the subject.

Companionable silence takes over as they step into the turbolift, with its sleek white walls and slim computer screens, like so much of the gorgeous ship. Before long, they're at deck 2, the sciences deck where the teams should be waiting for briefing. He experiences slight reluctance as Spock steps from the lift, though his presence at the briefing would likely be superfluous. Unfortunately, he has essentially nothing to do at this point except read reports as they come in (if the planet were cooler, he'd go back down, but with the soaring temperatures no crew members are supposed to be on the surface for more than four hours within a five hour period).

"Captain," Spock says, putting a hand in front of the door just as it's about to slide shut, "I desire to speak with you."

"Desire, Spock?"

Playing with Spock is fun (not that he's done it very much—but he knows it will be).

"Simply the lack of precision in Standard, Captain. It would be erroneous to say I need to speak to you, yet there is not a different word that does not carry an additional emotional meaning."

Fun indeed. It would be nicer, of course, had Spock found a less well-constructed answer, but amusing nevertheless.

"Right." He waits a beat, and then, "Come by my quarters after Alpha Shift."

Spock nods, removes his hand, and turns away as the door swishes closed and the lift begins rising. After barely a moment Jim steps onto his stunning bridge. Perhaps having little to do will not be the worst thing after all, if he gets to sit in this space for the doing-of-nothing. The numerous notifications on his data padd however, do not allow him the opportunity to discover whether he is correct. Reports continue to pile in through the rest of Alpha shift.

(On the plus side, each one he's read so far supports Spock's conclusion.)

* * *

><p>The door chime sounds just as Jim is pulling his shirt off to change into a comfier one. He is by no means tangled. Really, he isn't. It's <em>intentional<em>, controlled tangled-ness. Or _twisted_-ness, that is.

"Come in," he semi-calls, semi-grunts.

Extricating himself from his treacherous shirt, which finally falls to the floor, he spins to find the other shirt, and incidentally finds Spock instead. Spock—being Spock—has raised that ever-versatile eyebrow of his. The eyebrow slowly returns to its natural height, but somehow Spock appears no less confused or surprised (at least, not to Jim).

"Don't you ever change into different clothes after shift, Spock?" He asks, turning around to grab a shirt from his wardrobe and pulling it on with his back to Spock.

So he doesn't notice the way Spock's eyes follow him, almost unwillingly.

Shirt on, Jim plops down on a convenient chair and motions for Spock to sit on one nearby. By the time he actually looks at his first officer, the Vulcan is completely and utterly composed. He sits down with a grace that escapes humans; if a human tried to imitate him, the movements would appear stiff and ungainly. Perhaps it has something to do with the focus he, and Vulcans in general, exude effortlessly, causing them to seem completely in control of every single gesture or movement they perform.

Lost in thought, Spock's words surprise him and jolt him back to awareness. He quickly plays them back in his head because he didn't register the words as Spock spoke them.

"I understand that you showed me… personal favor today. I wish to recognize this on behalf of myself and the Vulcan race. I understand that it might have inconvenienced you."

"Is that a thank you, Spock?" He asks with half a smile.

"That would be a reasonably accurate human equivalent, sir."

"It's Jim. And you're welcome."

Spock's gaze flickers to the floor and back. Jim gets the feeling that it's only his response to Spock's thanks preventing the stubborn man from countering Jim's correction. As it is, however, Spock seems to decide to (temporarily) let him win this one.

". . . As you say."

"I do say." After a pause he adds, "and it wasn't any trouble."

The man nods, and appears to be lost in thought. Companionable silence envelops them.

Jim breaks it after several minutes (an accidental effect of speech). "Is that all, Spock?"

Speaking into silence is, generally, a risky thing. The disturbance of silence is volatile. In all fairness, the gently, softly spoken words should not break the companionable silence between them, but instead cause a transitory lessening. In any case, the companionable air between them should not alter. But it does.

_Is that all, Spock? _

It is, apparently, the _wrong_ thing to say; the man closes himself off, suddenly, completely. Jim hasn't the slightest idea how because his face looks exactly the same, no change of eyebrows or those tiny muscles around his mouth or anything, but somehow he looks completely different at the same time—as though he flipped a switch or put a mask over his face. Perhaps it's the eyes.

Spock stands swiftly. "I did not intent to further occupy your time; I will return to my quarters."

The man is _fast_. Admittedly, his quarters are rather small, but it remains impressive that Spock is already halfway _across the room _by the time he can process the sudden change enough to respond. And, contrary to the belief of several people, he thinks well on his feet (and very quickly).

"Whoa. Spock!—" (Spock halts and turns back to face Jim, with an air of reluctance) "—That is not what I meant. I was asking you whether you had anything else on your mind that you wanted to discuss."

The mask over Spock's face slips away slightly. "I… see."

Well, now what does he do? Tell Spock that he hadn't meant to dismiss him but that he has nothing to say, so that he might as well leave after all? Unacceptable. He glances around his still-sparse quarters thoughtfully.

"Care for a game of chess, Spock?"

Spock hadn't expected that (he can tell because the eyebrow shifts upwards).

"I would not be adverse to a game, Captain."

"What did I say about—"

"Jim."

Pleasantly surprised, he grabs the chess set from an upper shelf and carefully positions it on a table that has a suitable height. The height of the table has more of an effect with 3D chess than with the traditional two dimensional chess. Well, it doesn't matter all that much. But he likes to have a certain angle on it so that he can see all the levels clearly. It's a quirk of his.

"That's it! I told you we were getting to know each other!" After a slight pause, "We're still going to have to work on your understanding of certain human expressions, though." He starts to drag two chairs to the table, but Spock takes the second one from him.

"I assure you, I have a strong understanding of a variety of illogical human expressions."

"Ah, but we need to show you the logic in them." Jim drops into his chair with a teasing smile.

"The odds of this goal of yours being accomplished are extremely small, small enough to be considered completely negligible by many statisticians."

"That's the fun in it," Jim replies, and starts the game.

He watches Spock's facial expression slowly clear, surprise from Jim's last comment fading away as he turns his focus to the chess set and the game. Adorable. He studies the board intently yet calmly, clearly planning ahea—

Hold up a second. Adorable? …_Right_. Moving on.

One more second—It _is_ acceptable to think that about a friend, right? Erm, moving on. _Chess_. Think chess.

Of course, he doesn't think about chess the way most skilled chess players do. He plays with a deliberate streak of randomness in his game, and avoids thinking too far ahead. The overall picture is clear in his mind, but only at a distance… and even if he were to zoom in to see the smaller details, they would be blurry and indistinct. His current counterpart likely has multiple pictures in his mind, so to speak, each showing diverging and converging outcomes in diverse possible situations.

He generally spends part of his time observing his opponent—an action not terribly conducive at the moment because he's attempting to avoid focusing on Spock too closely (and failing). The pure intensity with which Spock plays is fascinating and mesmerizing. Perhaps it shouldn't be, but it seems to Jim that if he watches intently enough, he can trace the thoughts flickering across Spock's face. Ridiculous, right? Spock's face hardly changes; the eyes move back and forth as Spock examines the board, but he rarely even moves his head more than a centimeter, for goodness' sake. He's probably reading into things.

Time seems to alter its speed throughout the game: sometimes, it's rushing past, with moves exchanging rapidly, almost without thought or the barest hesitation, and other times, it's crawling, as moves falter and are only made after considerable thought.

An exceedingly slight conversation weaves its way through their game, jumping in focus periodically after long pauses of silence. Calling it a conversation is, perhaps, moderately generous.

"Jim, I have a query about an aspect of human behavior."

"Oh?" Jim absentmindedly fiddles with with a fallen pawn, twirling it with his fingers.

"I understand that humans feel emotion and exhibit it freely. However, I have also observed certain individuals suddenly exhibit an emotion, and equally suddenly, return to the one previous, or suddenly show no emotion at all. I am not certain that the unpredictability of human emotion can explain this phenomenon. Do you have any insight on the matter?"

Jim moves his rook to a lower level and slowly removes his hand from the piece.

"It depends on the situation. Given the right circumstances, emotion might swing back and forth quite suddenly. As for the disappearance of emotion, that could be caused by a person quickly controlling the emotion, whether to prevent himself from showing it, it to prevent oneself from feeling it. That control doesn't necessarily last—depends on the person—but it is fairly common.

"But I think you're referring to something else. At times, we pretend to feel things that we do not. The suddenness would be because it is not real. The possible lack of emotion afterwards would be for the same reason."

Here, silence stretches.

Spock moves a pawn. "Why do humans pretend this?"

"We have a lot of expectations about emotions, and the way that people should feel given certain circumstances. Humans often have strong opinions as to what is and what is not normal, and as to what behavior constitutes a person who is or is not okay. We pretend to feel emotion to reassure others, or to hide what we are actually feeling. Sometimes we want to avoid a type of conversation, or want to be left alone, or want to spare someone else's feelings. So we pretend. After the need for pretense is over, we often drop the act quickly."

"Most illogical."

Jim cants his head and studies Spock's face. "To a race which bases much of its culture on the _lack_ of emotion. Trust me, it makes perfect sense to us."

"And yet, as humans are an illogical race, that does not strengthen your argument."

Jim shakes his head and grins.

Silence encompasses them again, apart from the soft sounds of moving chess pieces, until they start saying "check" at various intervals. Spock says it rather matter-of-factly. Jim says it with an internal grin.

It is a matter-of-fact voice that quietly says "checkmate."

Honestly, it is hardly surprising.

Jim tips over his king. "Good game," he remarks truthfully.

"Indeed. I have not experienced an engaging game of chess in five point six seven years."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Jim watches as Spock nods softly, and slowly stands. Wonders who first played chess with him, and wonders if he plays slightly less rigidly than other Vulcans might. His eyes follow Spock as he returns his chair to its original position. Jim, distractedly, does the same.

_I'm sorry._ No. It would be foolish, so foolish to bring that up. They're past it, aren't they? He had addressed it, slightly, in one of his comms to Spock… not in so many words, for he hadn't wanted to cause further distress, but he _had _addressed it. But it does not now feel like enough. It probably never did. Still, what right has he to bring it up? Will it only serve to ease his own guilt?

Certain words need to be said. Others do not.

As is often the case in these mental indecisions of his, his mouth decides for him. It really does work that way—one moment he is debating to himself, and the next, he is speaking despite the fact that he never (explicitly) came to a decision.

"Spock."

Spock, who just about reached the door during Jim's inner conversation, pauses and raises an eyebrow in question. Haltingly, Jim steps forward so that only about five feet separate them. It seems cowardly to do this from across the room.

He doesn't have the right words; he thinks it would be impossible to find them. As a result, the apology essentially consists of several separate thoughts shoved together and given to Spock.

"I'm sorry.

"God, I am so sorry for everything that I did to hurt you. I knew that my words weren't true; I knew that they would hurt you. I said them anyway because I was convinced that it was necessary, and I know that it saved Earth, but—I'm awful at apologies. I'm just giving you excuses. I am deeply sorry that I said those words. I am sorry for hurting you. I am sorry for verbally attacking you at a horrible, horrible time to do so. I am sorry for doing it, period. I am sorry for forcing you to reveal your emotions to the bridge crew. And you need to know, Spock, that no one would ever say that any of my words were true. No one would believe that they were. The were complete and utter lies. I am sorry for any and all of the pain that they have caused you."

Jim looks into Spock's eyes during the apology: anything less than that would diminish the meaning of his words. At first, Spock appears confused. Then, his face shows a flash of understanding (around "I was convinced that it was necessary"), before all expression slowly disappears. Except for his eyes. Jim is starting to think that if he watches closely enough, Spock's eyes will always tell him everything he needs to know. Once Jim finishes, however, he can't resist the urge to look at the floor.

Way to blindside your first officer and bring up an exceedingly painful memory for him, Jim. Do you feel better now? Because he probably doesn't. (Hence the examination of the floor.)

(Is it weird that sometimes he thinks in second person?)

He feels Spock step closer, and looks up to find Spock watching him intently from perhaps three feet away. The Vulcan's hand starts to reach out, it seems, but Jim isn't sure because just as quickly, it's at Spock's side as though it never moved. He can't read the emotion in Spock's eyes right now.

Spock seems to be at a loss for words, but nods deeply, formally. "Thank you, Jim," he says slowly, purposefully, and proceeds to turn and leave the room.

Jim falls onto his bed and attempts to interpret the past several hours.

It's awhile before he falls asleep.

* * *

><p>. . .<p>

* * *

><p>The crew does not merely perform their tests; they continuously examine them with great intensity and cross-reference them with extensive recorded data from Vulcan. Hikaru reads through the banks of stored DNA sequences to determine which Vulcan flora and fauna can be recreated and introduced to Djakarta. Surprisingly, Djakarta has very little life upon its surface. It mirrors Vulcan closely in all ways bar that one—a fact that made several of the analysts suspicious, as though Djakarta possessed a concealed fatal flaw (after the extensive testing however, they finally concluded this lack to be innocuous). Despite the abundance of life in the universe (more life than most humans had ever dreamed of, and vastly more sentient life than they had hoped) there remain numerous planets with<em>out<em> life. Some of them have wonderful conditions for it, making them perfect for colonies, while others are barren. Djakarta lies in a unique category: some parts of her surface sustain ecosystems, while other areas contain no life at all, only great potential. This peculiar blend could allow the scientists to rebuild Vulcan ecosystems in the empty areas with minimal disturbance to the original Djakartan ecosystems. Resurrecting lost ecosystems will certainly be a demanding endeavor and the ecosystems will be incomparably fragile, and yet they will spare no effort in attempting to preserve as much of Vulcan as is possible.

Jim sits in his conference room, legs crossed, thinking over the last several days of tests while Spock sits beside him silently. He honestly has hardly spoken to Spock since that chess game—the man has been working himself into the ground. Jim can't quite tell whether this intensity is common in Vulcans, or if Spock is pushing himself harder than he normally would. Wouldn't it be logical to actually sleep at night? He is rather certain, at this point, that Spock hasn't been. Glancing at the man's face, he can't pinpoint a difference, but he has been acting quite differently as of late. Other crew-members are certainly quite devoted, but they haven't been risking their health: even the science officers are taking adequate care of themselves, even if some haven't done much else besides working and resting the past couple days. If only Jim could bring the situation up more forcefully than the last couple roundabout mentions he has made to Spock (all cooly rebuffed by some statement about a Vulcan's reduced needs). He has a fleeting suspicion that Spock is throwing himself into his work in order to avoid thinking about or acknowledging other things, and who is he to take away Spock's rather-human coping mechanism if that is the case? Particularly if he himself triggered the emotional distress several nights ago. Perhaps Spock'll relax a little now that they've finished examining Djakarta.

His thoughts slip back to the final reports from his officers. According to Hikaru's latest report, the areas devoid of life happen to coincide with the climates and terrains closest to those of the Vulcans' former planet.

At times it seems as though there have been too many convenient coincidences.

"It is not illogical to consider the possibility that the universe is attempting to minimize the disruption caused by Nero and to remain as similar to the original universe as is possible."

Come again?

A moment ago, Spock had been perusing the final compilation of the tests performed by the Sciences as they were waiting for the conference call with the admiralty. Notably, Jim hadn't so much as touched Spock's shoulder, let alone his bare skin.

Had he spoken that last thought aloud? That could pose a few problems in the future if he keeps that up… Spock merely continues skimming through the compilation and looks, for all the world, as though neither of them have uttered a word.

"I was just wondering about that…" His voice trails off uncertainly, posing a question.

"It is a wise practice to consider words before speaking them. It is a trait that few of your species appear to practice, though I cannot conclude on the matter because I lack verifiable data on the subject."

Jim can't help but be mildly pleased by the quip, irrational as such pleasure may be.

"Thank you." His mouth curves into a partial grin, "I'll take that as a complement."

"On the contrary, your statement that you were "just wondering about that" was unnecessary and repetitive. Are you feeling quite alright?"

Giving up on predicting his first officer would likely be an advisable action at this point.

Just then, Nyota's brisk voice sounds from the intercomm, "The Admiralty is ready on screen one. I have patched them the final report, which they now have on their computers."

"Acknowledged. Thank you Lieutenant."

He swiftly pushes the appropriate button to open the call on the viewing screen.

Not quite certain how to express appropriate respect (and formality, since they seem to be set on that), he settles for sitting up straighter in his seat.

In response to Admiral Archer's "Captain Kirk; Commander Spock," he gives a polite nod, though it feels like a mildly silly response. Spock, however, does the same thing so perhaps he's on the ball this time.

"We have concluded that Djakarta is extremely suitable to become Vulcan II; we have found no aspects of the planet that would make it less suitable for the colony. It is a closer match than would be expected; statistically the probability of finding such a planet is minuscule—"

"A 2.13 percent chance."

Jim should have anticipated that. Spock'll probably offer more details about Djakarta's suitability, so he stays silent for a moment to give him the chance… but Spock remains quiet. Weird. He can't see his face either—he could hardly lean forward to peer at it—so he can only continue speaking as though things are normal (which, to the Admirals, they are).

Pike appears puzzled though, and that's a face he can read expertly.

"Since the last reports sent to you, we have not found any new information concerning Djakarta's conditions: instead, we have continued cross examining it with data from Vulcan. We have located a place to build the first part of the colony, though there are numerous other places that are suitable for settlement. We have also organized an initial plan for the introduction of plants and animals from Vulcan into suitable areas of the environment, which would not interfere with current Djakartan ecosystems in other areas."

The meeting continues that way for some time, with various formalities uttered and passed back and forth. It seems a little strange to Jim that they're mostly repeating information from the final report, but he concedes that it possibly reduces misunderstandings to speak about important matters in addition to writing about them. Spock maintains stony silence throughout the comm, bar a few comments on a couple of occasions. Stony is not a truly suitable word; to have a Vulcan sitting stiffly and silently next to you provides a stunning simile to stone, yet it carries with it none of the anger or displeasure that the expression holds when applied to a human. In any case, Spock is silent.

As the debriefing comes to a close, the admirals begin conferring among themselves, and he can catch only snatches of their conversation. It sounds, to Jim, as though they are deciding the next course of action regarding Djakarta—which ships to send, which supplies to come first, what time to start construction…

Spock, with his superior Vulcan hearing, should be able to hear it all; Jim, accordingly, internally winces. Spock must also be able to hear the thread of conversation about public relations, about renaming Djakarta, about announcing that they (Starfleet) have found a suitable planet… and, Jim thinks, sometimes it's the smaller details, like those ones, that suddenly make loss real, and remind grief to rise up and demand acknowledgment.

As the video comm closes and the screen turns dark, Jim glances at Spock just in time to see him studying his hands, as though he needs something to hang onto. "Spock—" he says, but it's too late, for the man slams a shield over his face and stands perfunctorily, crisply, and says only, "If you will excuse me Captain, I will resume my other duties"

"Wait, Spock, is there anything I can do for you? Are you alright?"

As rooms go, it is a small one; small because it is a conference room nestled next to the bridge, which provides ready access, but little space. The room is perfect for confidential discussions between two or three persons (though the room could comfortably house a discussion between five). It is, therefore, not tiny… but small enough that his only answer is the swish of the door.

He remains still for a few moments before rising and returning to the bridge. The sting of Spock's exit lingers.

_No_, he is _not_ upset about the obvious rebuttal in Spock's swift departure.

Okay, that would be too firm to convince even himself, except that he knows better. He honestly isn't upset by it (unless concerned counts). Somehow, and he can't tell why, the sudden absence of Spock's presence and the harsh swish of the door created the sensation of whiplash. Yes, he is quite aware that this makes exceedingly little sense.

He is, however, not lingering on it.

"New orders: We will be assisting with the initial creation of a Vulcan colony on Djakarta. The Enterprise is to arrive at Earth by 0800 in two day's time. Since that gives us a surplus of time, we will perform a quick sweep of this system to verify that there is no unusual activity, and then make course to Earth… where crew-members with families on Earth will be given shore leave first, and then other crew-members, time-permitting. Chekov, please make a ship-announcement. Sulu, plot and lay in a sweeping course."

The two voices chorus in, Chekov a breath sooner than Sulu. "Aye, Keptain." "Yes, sir."

Jim foolishly circles to Spock's station, where the man is bent over one of his consoles and lightly tapping different sections of the display.

Spock must have noticed his approach; he starts talking as if in answer to a prompt, or perhaps in a preemptive strike. "I have already begun analyzing the long-range scans of the system. All appears normal. To pass through the system at a distance allowing for the close-range scan will take approximately 3.11 hours. We should then reach Earth's orbit 2.57 hours after we finish the scans. That would be 1652.8. Assuming that we arrive then, we will have 39 hours, 7 minutes, and 52 seconds in Earth's orbit before our deadline of 0800."

Thirty-_nine_ hours, _seven _minutes, and _fifty seconds? _

"Thirty-nine hours, seven minutes, and fifty-_two_ seconds._"_

Oops.

"Right," he murmurs mildly dazedly.

Speaking his thoughts without realizing it can_not_ turn into a thing.

. . .

Spock is, rather unsurprisingly, correct—possibly not down to the second, but, then again, Jim has better things to do than test Spock's incredibly precise estimations. Five and a half hours after their conversation (give or take) they lock into orbit. While his officers scanned the system, he organized a shore leave schedule, with crew-members with families on Earth having the most time on-planet. He then managed to organize shifts so that every crew-member would have at least several hours planet-side. (This took much longer than the scans did even with the computer doing part of the work; schedules are rather miserable things, he decides.) The schedule he devised might not be entirely equal, but since they shouldn't even be having shore leave for months, he figures that no one will begrudge the crew-members the extra time with their families. The ship's computers will also note the shore leave times each one gets, which will help balance things out later. The computer sends notifications out regarding shore leave, and Chekov issues an announcement telling everyone to check their comm units.

An hour after arrival he finds himself on a slightly empty ship with very little to do. His visit to engineering produced very little; Scotty was just getting ready to beam down (having taken time to write a list of possible upgrades to the Enterprise…despite the fact that she is already state of the art). He looked at the list, briefly, after Scotty beamed down, and couldn't quite find the logic in the various ideas, though they certainly _looked_ interesting. Something about some of the consoles in engineering, something else about the replicators, and then a number of things that he truly couldn't decipher (though that could in part be because of the man's messy scrawl).

He is not a man very good at doing nothing, so he ambles his way through his ship, happy to walk her halls and stop into various rooms (as opposed to sitting idly in his quarters). He decides to drop into Med Bay to smile at the nurses and any patients they may have (though they shouldn't have anybody, at least not for anything serious, because he hasn't received notification of them). There's a certain logic to visiting the nurses. No, he isn't visiting them for sex. He is visiting them because he has a tendency to get hurt doing various things, and he wants them to _like_ him when they're poking him and prodding him. He also wants them to consider letting him escape Med Bay on those occasions when Bones thinks his injuries are worse than they actually are. It happens a lot. Really. He was totally fine that time he came back to the dorm after—

Bones' voice cuts through Jim's thoughts like a knife. "_You cannot be serious."_ It is quiet, which is a dangerous thing for Bones' voice to be when it is filled with anger. Usually, anger makes his volume go up and up and up…

He also shouldn't be hearing his friend's voice at all, because he should be with his daughter, so why on Earth… _his daughter. His ex-wife Jocelyn. Damn. _

"Bones! What's the matter?" he calls while walking into the Med Bay and back to McCoy's office, "Why are you still here? You should be visiting your darling daughter! She'll be thrilled to see you, and you're depriving her of precious minutes. I can't imagine you would do that willingly, so what is wrong? It must be _terrible_."

When he tries, he can make his words incredibly pointed. He also keeps his voice at just the right volume for it to sound natural enough (in a playfully inquisitive with a touch of seriousness sort of way) while still ensuring that the link picks it up.

He steps into Bones' office while cultivating an air of ignorance to the situation. "Let's fix it and get you to—Jocelyn? Is Joanna alright?"

"Joanna is fine, Jim." Bones throws him a look brimming with not-fooled. It probably has gratefulness in it too, but it's hidden by frustration and anger (which basically tells him everything he would need to know if he hadn't already guessed).

Of course, with Jocelyn, one doesn't often stay in the dark for long. She has a way of summing things up; she's transparent in her words and her actions. Some people find that refreshing in a person. Those people, however, have likely not met _her_: transparency in a person as rigid, opinionated, and emotionally high-strung as Jocelyn is not a very pleasant thing to experience.

Her words have their own anger to them, though her right to that anger is questionable. "Yes. She is fine. And she will remain that way without her father coming marching in and making her upset again!"

"Making her upset again?! How have I upset her?"

"You abandoned her!" She also has a way of twisting words around until they're lies.

"Don't you _dare_ say that. I _wanted _to be there! Always! And _you_ didn't. let. me."

"You gave up! You—"

"I wanted what was best for her."

"joined Starfleet! Do you think I'll let you close to our daughter when you could die any day?"

"This isn't about that. It has _never_ been about that."

Here, finally, Jim cuts in, speaking much more slowly than the other two. "First: Starfleet is a vast humanitarian, peacekeeping organization. It is something to respect, not to scorn. Second: you might very well decide to keep him from her to protect him from the pain of possible loss. But you won't do that."

Jocelyn doesn't ask why; she doesn't rise to the bait. Instead she seethes. (She plays power games, and would view rising to bait as weakening her position.)

He watches her closely. "You won't do that because you'll realize that eventually Joanna will hate you for it. If he dies, she'll hate you for taking away that opportunity, for denying her one more chance to see him, to hug him, to see his face in person, not through photograph or video comm. It won't matter whether you saved her initial pain of grief, because she'll mourn what never was, and always wonder. And if he doesn't die? She'll resent you for taking those years away from her, because she'll wonder then, too, and she'll know that she could have had so much more time, if only, …if only you hadn't made that decision for her. Eventually, he will die. Either way, she will realize what was lost if you decide to keep him from her now, or ever."

Jim knows Jocelyn and does not know her at the same time. He knows her personality and her character, inasmuch as one can know those things through stories and glimpses of video comms. He does not know the way her face moves, or what it means. To him, her face is illegible. She could be rethinking her actions or she could be planning a fierce, scathing rebuttal.

"You don't know my daughter."

"I don't need to know her in order to know that what I just said is true. And I know stories of her, and I've seen the cards they send each other, and I know that she would choose to see her daddy today if you gave her the choice."

"You're only saying that because of the way you lost your father."

He sucks in a breath, but time has hardened him to this type of weapon. It does not, now, hurt.

In his pause before speaking, he wonders why Bones hasn't spoken up by now, and hopes that he doesn't believe more of what Jocelyn says than he should.

"Maybe that's true; I'll probably never know. But I don't think you really believe that… and do you really want to stake something this important on that assumption?"

"Do you really think I'm going to fall for that?"

_Yes._

"Let me see my daughter." Bones voice is partially drained of anger, as though it was to visceral to be fully maintained.

"You don't have the right to demand that."

Before Bones can reply, Jim says, "A group of lawyers would find otherwise. He hasn't done that for Joanna's sake—but lawyers would find that he does not see her as much as he has a right to with the current custody rights, and they could also find a court to change those rights."

"You're bluffing."

Both of them wait.

"And if you weren't, he still wouldn't do that, for Joanna's sake. You can't threaten me."

"You sound sure of that," Bones shoots back.

"_I am._"

"That gives me the right to see her according to you—your main argument was that I didn't do what is best for her, and now you say that you are sure that I will."

A minor positive about Joanna is that since she plays so many power games, she knows when she is beaten and does not usually fight past that point. She still won't make things easier for them, naturally; she sits there saying nothing.

Jim decides to push. "Bones, why don't you bring Joanna up here for part of your shore leave? You can show her the Enterprise, and beam down with her to go to the park, or grab ice cream, or whatever else you might think of, whenever you want."

"I'm sure that Leonard doesn't want to be with her for his entire shore leave," Jocelyn replies acidly.

"_Yes I do. _So if you don't have a legitimate opposition to that, I'll beam down right now, and bring her up here once she grabs her things, and bring her back to you when shore leave ends. If she asks, I'll bring her back sooner—but you shouldn't expect that."

"I will inform her that you're coming."

"Good. I imagine she'll race around getting everything together and be ready shortly after I arrive."

Jocelyn closes the link and the screen turns black.

They simply stand there for a few seconds, looking from the screen to each other.

"I can fight my own battles, you know," Bones remarks gruffly.

"Yeah," Jim acknowledges softly, "you can."

"You can't just run around protecting people all the time. It'll make you think things are your fault when they're not."

But maybe they are. His fault. Sometimes.

He lets that one go, and his friend continues as though he hadn't really expected a response anyway. "…Thanks. That would have taken a lot longer, and gotten much uglier."

"You're welcome."

Then he remembers that Joanna is probably getting ready to go off with her dad by now, while the two of them stand in the Med Bay office, and adds, "and get down there!"

"Right! Right." With that, Leonard McCoy races out the door as fast as he might run for an emergency—but with excitement and pleasure, not worried urgency.

Jim doesn't take time to smile at the nurses after all because it's sort of odd to think about charming people after the argument and the new, fragile detente.

. . .

The thirty-nine hours pass both quickly and slowly. Since he is off duty, he conks out in his quarters and sleeps a little longer than usual, but once he wakes he has little with which to pass the time. He beams down to the surface because he loves his planet, and walks a favorite hiking trail to luxuriate in the trees, the sky, the ground, and the sunlight. It also serves the purpose of allowing him to avoid attention. Though Starfleet did not officially announce the Enterprise's brief return (instead only saying that the starship had already been integral to the efforts for the new colony), he'd rather play things safe and avoid reporters wherever possible.

Perhaps Starfleet felt that announcing the Enterprise's return would be anti-climatic…? Or they might not have trusted him to handle the publicity? They might have also, he supposes, wanted to avoid rumors that her command crew had already made some drastic mistake…

In any case, his ship is home, intact, and safe, as is his crew (unless you want to get picky and say that not _all _of them are home).

Bones and Joanna mostly spend their time with each other, though he sees her briefly during the Enterprise Tour (fascinated and raptured, beaming and bouncing). McCoy appears utterly relaxed and delighted, and perhaps more content than Jim has ever seen him.

Surprisingly enough, he is grateful not to be off-duty for the entire thirty-nine hours. It just feels… a little weird, a little wrong to be back on the ground so soon, as though it was all a dream. He had also spent some time saying goodbye to Earth, thinking that he wouldn't see it for a long time, and now he feels as if he is not truly here at all, yet will nevertheless need to again say goodbye.

While they were at warp he sent his mother a comm, because if he didn't he'd feel like a hypocrite. He has, however, spent a significant portion of time since then hoping that she isn't around to visit. Whatever would they say to each other when they had just had dinner not so long ago?

At 1900 (fourteen and a half hours remaining) he is sitting in his still-sparse quarters (today would have been a good day to fix that particular issue) when his data padd beeps a notification of a new message.

: : :

From: Winona Kirk

Subject: Re. The Enterprise will be at Earth for a couple days

_Today; 19:00 / 7:00 PM Pacific Time_

Hi Jim,

I am sorry to say that I am off-planet; I decided to accompany a scientific study of a planet several days' travel from Earth, and unfortunately our ship is not equipped for more than simple deep space communication.

I promise to comm you once I am in a position where video comm is possible.

How are you?

I wish I could visit.

Enjoy your shore leave!

_Previous Message _

| _Hi, _

| _The Enterprise is going to be orbiting around Earth for about a day and a half_

| _while waiting to help with the new Vulcan Colony._

| _We should arrive around 1800… Pacific Time, that is. _

| _Tell me if you're around._

| _Jim_

: : :

Sounds good enough to him. If he hadn't been reluctant to see her, he could go on about how she was _always_ off-planet when he was younger, but… Well, it's hardly fair to give her a hard time about her study expedition when he is on a five year mission, now is it?

Still, he feels a little disappointed, in that weird way where neither outcome would probably be able to please him.

He'll write back later tonight, or tomorrow morning.

Primarily driven by idle curiosity, and slightly driven by boredom, he taps out several commands to the computer in quick succession (call him old-fashioned, but sometimes he likes typing instead of talking); almost instantaneously the computer returns an incredibly short list, with the names of any crew-members who were given shore leave, but are still working.

Is it still a list if it only has one name?

_Commander Spock, First Officer_

It concerns him that Spock is still working. Perhaps it shouldn't—the man is Vulcan, and Vulcans do not often pause their duties for anything other than meditation, food, or sleep. However, given the that way Spock has been throwing himself into his work (yes, the Vulcan argument still complicates things here), coupled with his strangely infrequent comments during their meeting with the admiralty, and compounded by the fact that, well… he hasn't been behaving Jim has come to expect from him, he _is_ worried, and convinced that the worry is legitimate.

Alright, that isn't exactly fair. It's pretty arrogant too. Jim hasn't known Spock, who just suffered an incomprehensible loss, for very long, and he doesn't really have any ground for making assumptions about his behavior.

But when they were on the Narada, they were in sync with each other; each one knew what the other would do, without the use of more than a moment of eye contact. Despite the presumptuous nature of his thoughts, he's pretty sure that he understands the guy better than most people do. He isn't making things up when he reads emotions in the man's face, while others look at it and call it empty, or when he could swear that Spock is joking with him.

There are a lot of other things he can dwell on, but in the end, it mostly comes down to the fact that he's good at understanding people. When he feels that he has a good grasp on somebody, he is rarely wrong.

And yes, at the bottom of his belief, there is doubt—but belief always has doubt in it somewhere, and the one in question has surprisingly little.

He has also been fairly certain the something is wrong for at _least_ a day, and he has failed to do anything about it. Unfortunately it's not as though he can or should just march in and fix things, but he can still offer to help, and offer to simply _be there, …_even if Spock continually rejects his offers.

"Computer, locate Commander Spock."

"Sciences, Deck 2, Biology Lab."

. . .

The turbolift brings him down three decks very quickly; unfortunately, he is not certain whether he is grateful for its speed at the moment.

Before he can stall or change his mind and return to his quarters on Deck 5, he turns to his left, and finds the door to the biology section glowing slightly green. It gives him pause for a moment, before he remembers that the doors of science labs have a color code: green means safe to enter; yellow, entrance could disrupt something; red, unstable or dangerous environment.

A yellow door would be nice at the moment.

The door opens before him, and he steps into the dimly lit lab—rather reluctantly for a person meddling in someone else's affairs.

The room, pristine, is deserted but for Spock, who is working at a computer, bent over slightly due to his above average height.

It would be so easy to turn around. Spock is clearly engrossed in his project, and though he likely noticed the opening of the door, he seems perfectly content to ignore that small disturbance. He does not shift, or stiffen, or stop. Standing in a pool of slightly-brighter light, he scribbles things down (with neatness and focus), and speaks to the computer in a soft enough voice that Jim can't hear a thing.

He doesn't _look_ unwell.

But something holds Jim there, by the door, and neither lets him turn around, or continue into the lab.

Or, it doesn't let him turn around. He's the one not letting himself take a step forward.

Seconds pass, but they feel like minutes. Gradually, it begins to feel as though he is spying on Spock, which—for all his concerns—is not his intention, and he finally walks across the room to stand perhaps six feet away from his first officer.

The man looks towards him quickly, as if to inquire whether he requires assistance, but straightens and turns to face Jim when he realizes that the room's additional occupant is not, in fact, one of his science officers.

At least, that's what he (Jim) thinks.

When it becomes clear the Spock isn't going to start the conversation, Jim asks, "Spock, why aren't you on shore leave?"

"I am working on my study."

The words, curt and somehow sharp, startle Jim more than they should.

"You've been working many more hours than you need to, lately."

"The adjective 'lately' is an insufficient description for a unit of time. Additionally, the science department members have all been working past the end of their shifts."

"Spock, you know that you've been working more hours than the other science department members."

"Regulations do not state a maximum number of hours that may be worked, provided that each Starfleet member remains healthy. They do require that each member has adequate time for rest and leisurely activities, and defines the times, along with the additional statement that the ship's chief doctor may alter those times for individual members, if he finds it necessary. You will find that I have not been without adequate time as defined by Starfleet."

…What was that about turning around and walking away before Spock noticed him? And why didn't he do it?

"This isn't about regulations, Spock, and I'm not here to chastise you, or order you to stop working. I'm concerned that you've been working so much—"

"I have not neglected my needs, Captain. Your concern has been noted, but you should be aware that as a Vulcan, my needs are fewer than yours."

He wants to say, _"Not Captain—we're off duty, remember? Call me Jim." _He wants to insist it, but right now it feels like the wrong thing to say.

He wants to say, _"I don't think you're okay; please let me help—" _but what right does he have to say that?

Instead, he only says, "Okay. Let me know if I can help."

And he turns, and walks out of the lab, and steps into the turbolift, and returns to his quarters.

He doesn't look back, but he imagines that Spock resumes working, as if he hadn't been there at all.

He pulls a book off of a shelf next to his bed, and brushes a hand across its cover and worn spine. Printed books are unique enough now that they are rare in certain circles, but loved enough by some eccentrics that they can still be found without too much trouble—for someone with spare money. For him, it's a bit trickier.

He settles down to read, but even with the treasured book in his hand, his gaze keeps finding a certain chess set, and his thoughts drift, every so often, to an almost empty lab three decks below.


End file.
